Hollow Victories
by Sue Pokorny
Summary: Set early season 2, sometime after CSPWDT. The Winchesters come across signs that an old Halloween myth may be more than just a simple story.
1. Chapter 1

**I'd originally planned to get this finished and posted by Halloween, but real life has a way of screwing with the best laid plans. Anyhoo, I promise to get the second part up as soon as possible. But, I'd like to offer this as my Halloween gift!!**

**Hollow Victories**

"So you really think this is our kind of thing?" Sam Winchester closed the door of the big black Chevy and adjusted his tie as he made his way around to the driver's side of the car. The town they found themselves in was a picturesque village in eastern New York, just north of the big city. The Hudson River ran to the east of the village, separating the quiet little burg from the hustle and bustle of the Big Apple. Sam was hoping to get his brother to agree to heading over to New York City for a day to check out a few of the book stores Bobby had told him about. He even had a list of volumes the old mechanic was interested in acquiring, although Sam had no idea where the older hunter would store them in his packed house.

"I told you, Sam. Two bodies, sans heads." Dean looked up at his younger brother, a slight smirk on his face.

"You think it could be Gordon?"

Dean pursed his lips and shook his head. "No."

Sam waited a beat for more before dipping his own head in question. "And you're so sure about that because…."

Dean shrugged. "Because, Gordon chopped the heads from those vampires, but he didn't keep them as souvenirs." He held up a hand before Sam could comment. "Both heads are missing. And the victims were long time residents, not drifters or new arrivals. One was a 60-year old man and the other a 40 year old mother of two." He raised his eyebrows, his eyes squinting slightly in the mid day sun, smile playing on his lips. "That sound like vampire material to you? Besides, in this location, it was just too good to pass up."

Sam looked around the street, noting the shops and stores that lined the main avenue. The town itself was quiet, with large homes built back into soft rolling hillsides. They'd past more than a few mansions on their drive into town, both brothers whistling at the opulence of the estates. The only unnatural thing Sam had seen was the shape of some of the foliage surrounding some of those estates. "Okay," he drawled, following the older man across the two-lane street, dodging a few cars along the way. "What is it about this place that has you all amped up?"

Dean stopped as soon as he hit the opposite curb and turned toward his brother. "You really don't know?"

Sam made a show of looking up and down the street, then pursed his lips and gave a shrug. "What exactly am I supposed to know, Dean?"

Dean chuckled and shook his head as if the answer should be obvious. "Two headless bodies are found here… in Tarrytown, New York." He waved a hand in an imitation of Vanna White, dipping his head in question as he watched the younger man's face. "And you're telling me you didn't make the connection?"

Sam waited, his eyes brows raised in expectation.

"And here I thought college made you smart," Dean mumbled as he dropped his arm dejectedly and started at a brisk pace down the sidewalk. He waited for the taller man to catch up before starting his narrative. "Tarrytown has been around since before the revolutionary war. One of its more influential citizens back then was a man by the name of Washington Irving." He watched his brother out of the corner of his eye, his smile growing when the name suddenly clicked in Sam's mind. "Yep. Tarrytown was the actual setting for the Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Sammy. We are in the home of the Headless Horseman."

Sam couldn't stop the snort of laughter that escaped as he followed his brother to the front door of the local police station. "Sleepy Hollow? You're kidding right? That's what's got you all a-twitter?"

Dean stopped as he reached for the door, turning slightly to throw his brother a look of reproach. "A-twitter? Seriously, dude?"

"Come on, Dean. That was just a story. The Headless Horseman is just a myth."

Dean nodded, both sides of his mouth turned down in a look of thoughtful deliberation. "Sort of like ghosts, and wendigos and all kinds of supernatural shit that we hunt down and kill every day?"

Sam stuttered for a moment, not really having a response. "I know all that, man. But, the headless horseman? That's just weird – even for us."

"Maybe," Dean let his grin spread across his face. "But you gotta admit, two headless bodies showing up right now… right here? It's worth checking into, right?"

Sam took a long breath through his nose and released it in a drawn out sigh. After Dean's admission about what he believed their father had done – how he had traded his life for Dean's -- Sam had wished for anything to put some kind of spark back into his brother's eyes. Dean had shut down after confessing that he believed John Winchester had made some kind of a deal with the yellow-eyed demon for Dean's life. He'd driven to the nearest medical clinic, opting to wait outside, alone while Sam had his hand x-rayed and cast. After that, they'd found a motel and Dean had withdrawn, only speaking when spoken to and becoming more mono-syllabic than normal, making Sam almost wish for the tail-spinning brother that had started to really scare him back in that college town.

This hunt had been the first thing that had broken through the self-imposed silence and, although Sam was having a hard time believing it was what Dean hoped it was, he found himself wanting to play along if only to feed the spark of life that had returned in his brother "Maybe," he finally admitted. "But… the Headless Horseman?"

"Look at the bright side, Sammy," Dean offered as he pulled open the door to the station. "At least it's not a clown."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsns

It always amazed Sam what a dark suit, a flip of a badge and a firm handshake could get them. In this case, it got them past the duty sergeant of the Tarrytown police precinct and into the morgue, where Sam got his first look at the decapitated corpses that had his brother so excited. It was a sight he could've done without. They were exposed to quite a bit of ugliness in their line of work – headless corpses not withstanding -- but seeing what was once a human being without the immediate identifying components such as a head or face still managed to turn his stomach.

"Any idea what could've done this?" asked Dean, leaning over one of the bodies, his eyes raking across the clean line of the cut.

"Not yet," the old coroner sighed. "It's obvious whoever did this had brute strength going for them." He shifted his glasses down from their position perched on his head and stared down his nose, pointing at the protruding neck with a pen. "As you can see, the head wasn't sawed off. The cut was very clean. Almost surgical."

"Like with a scalpel?" Sam asked, keeping his eyes carefully trained on the man on the opposite side of the drawer. His last encounter with a severed head had been enough to last him for a while.

"No," was the quick response. "No scalpel could cut this completely. It had to have been a much larger blade."

"Like a sword?"

The coroner chuckled at the barely concealed excitement in Dean's voice.

"I see you've done your homework, Agent Shaw." The man replaced the thin sheet that had been covering the remains and pushed the drawer back into the wall. "I'm well aware of the history of this town, and as much as it pains me to admit it, a sword or a very sharp axe would most likely be the murder weapon."

"And the heads are still missing."

The doctor nodded grimly. "I don't know what could possess someone to commit such an act of savagery, or what could possess them to keep such a sick memento. I hope you find whoever did this. Before it gets out of hand."

Sam exchanged a look of confusion with his brother. "Before what gets out of hand?"

The doctor sighed. "I suppose it has occurred to you that headless bodies found here, in what is essentially Sleepy Hollow would garner quite a bit of attention in the media." He removed his glasses and shoved them absently into the breast pocket of his lab coat. "I mean, the legend of the Headless Horseman, is just that, a legend, but there are those who still believe the story is real. Those who would believe – and want others to believe – the Horseman still rides."

"It has occurred to us," Dean assured him, schooling his features into a professional demeanor. "That's why we intend to be very discreet in our investigation."

The coroner nodded, his eyes moving from Dean to Sam and back again. "I certainly hope so, Agents. I can only imagine the circus we'll have if word gets out the Horseman has returned."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsnsns

Dean squinted slightly as he read through the information on the computer screen. Normally, he'd let his geek sidekick do the research, but it was obvious Sam was simply humoring him, not really believing there was a hunt here in Tarrytown. The younger man had been forced to admit that two headless bodies was worth checking out, but he was convinced they would find that there would be nothing supernatural about it. How the kid could be so dismissive was beyond Dean.

Okay, that wasn't exactly true. Sam, for the most part, was a lot more in touch with his girly, touchy feely side then Dean would ever hope – or want – to be. And he wasn't blind. He knew that Sam was worried about him. Ever since spilling his guts about what he believed Dad had done to save him on that mountain roadside, he'd noticed the younger man going out of his way to be more tolerant of his older brother's idiosyncrasies. And to be honest, he'd found himself at a loss.

He was used to having Sam ride him about his behavior. It made things seem normal. Dean would drink, Sam would bitch. Dean would make crappy jokes, Sam would bitch. Dean would eat like it was his last meal, Sam would simply shake his head and try not to watch. It made Dean happy.

Of course, he wasn't exactly keeping up his end of the deal lately.

Ever since Dad… ever since he'd reasoned out what had probably happened back at the hospital, he'd felt like the weight on his shoulders had tripled.

Dad had died for him. He still wasn't sure exactly how, he didn't know the logistics of the deal, but he was positive that John Winchester had finally put his son's life ahead of his vendetta.

And for the life of him he had no idea what to do with that.

He knew his dad loved him. It's not like they'd ever been a demonstrative kind of family, but Dean had always known. And, of course he'd idolized his father – the man was larger than life, a real honest-to-goodness hero in ever sense of the word. What son wouldn't look up to a man like that?

Sure, Dad had a tendency to keep things bottled up, to keep them in the dark about important matters, but Dean had always know it was the man's way of protecting them. He'd never doubted his father's priorities, hell, he actually shared them.

Family comes first – at least that was the way he'd always seen it, despite what he'd said to Sam in the car after they'd escaped from the demon. Sam saw their father's priority as revenge.

Dean knew it was defense.

John Winchester had lost his wife, his love, his children's innocence to that damn demon. He wasn't going to lose any more.

Dean had always understood that, even if Sam hadn't. That was why he could cut his dad slack and Sam… well, Sam hadn't had the same relationship with Dad. Sam had never had to rely on the man for comfort, or truth, or support. He'd had Dean, and Dean was more than happy to give those things to his little brother. But Dean had needed his father to make him feel safe. And John had given him exactly what he'd needed. So Sam couldn't perceive what Dean could easily distinguish beneath their father's rough façade.

Fear.

Fear for them. For two boys whom he loved more than life itself and who he'd lay down his own life to protect.

So, yeah, Dean had been having a hard time knowing what his dad had sacrificed for him.

But he still had a job to do. And he was going to pull himself together and do it.

Whether Sam helped or not.

The jiggling of the key in the door pulled his attention from the screen and he turned to see his brother enter the room, a cardboard takeout tray balanced in one hand.

"Took you long enough," he grumbled. "Thought I'd have to file a missing persons report."

"Or maybe you could've just hunted down the horseman and asked him if he'd seen me."

Dan frowned and pushed the laptop to the back of the table as his brother dropped the tray onto the surface.

"He's headless, dude. How exactly would he answer me?"

Sam pulled off his jacket and tossed it onto the edge of the bed before taking a seat opposite his brother. He reached into the bag and pulled a wrapped burger, tossing it to Dean before pulling one out for himself.

"You find anything?"

Dean quickly unwrapped the burger and took a large bite, chewing for a moment before shifting the food to the side so he could talk. "They're building a Walmart near Albany Post Road. Broke ground about two weeks ago."

Sam snorted a laugh as he swallowed. "You think the Headless Horseman is pissed because Sam Walton is coming to town?"

"No, moron." He reached for the laptop and turned it toward his brother. "I think they unearthed something that's been buried for a long time."

Sam leaned forward and scanned the article, his eyebrows rising to disappear under his hair. "Bones? They found unidentified human bones?"

"Yep," Dean nodded, reaching for one of the tall drinks and sipping on the straw. "According to the 'experts'" he used his free hand to draw air quotes in front of him. "They believe the bones date back to the 1700's. And get this – the head? It's missing."

Sam sat back. "Huh. So there really is a case here."

"Look like."

The younger man took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay, so what do you want to do?"

Dean dropped his burger and stared. "That's it? I prove there's a case here and all you have to say is 'what to you want to do?'"

Sam shrugged. "I guess." At Dean's look of anger, he held up a hand. "Look, Dean, I'm sorry. I believe you, okay? But you gotta admit, man, the Headless Horseman?"

"I never said it was the Horseman, I just said it was worth checking out. I do know how to do my job, Sam."

Sam nodded. "I know, Dean. And I said I was sorry, but you gotta admit, things haven't exactly been normal lately. After Dad, and that zombie girl and Gordon… I just…" He sighed and raised his eyes to meet his brothers. "I'm sorry. Okay? You were right. I shouldn't have doubted you… again. I just… I just want you to be okay."

Dean swallowed, the burger suddenly heavy in his stomach. "I know. I haven't exactly been… I'm okay, Sammy. Really, I am. Whatever Dad did… I have to live with that. I'm just not sure how…" he paused, knowing it wasn't really Sam he was angry with. "Let's just check out these bones and figure out what we're dealing with here, okay? Can we do that? Can we just do our job?"

Sam sighed and nodded his head once. "Yeah, Dean. We can do that."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsn

A quick call to their new coroner friend got them the location of the bones. The forensic anthropologist that had been called in was not available until the next morning, so they scheduled a meeting with him and decided to check out the construction site itself.

The foundation for the new superstore was huge. Dean and Sam had been shopping in Walmarts and stores like it as far back as they could remember. They had never had much money, and – as soon as Sam had hit his growth spurt and started needing new clothes instead of Dean's hand-me-downs, Walmart had become a staple in the Winchester's world. Not only could they buy enough t-shirts and jeans to keep both boys looking somewhat presentable, they could also pick up essentials such as hunting knives, large quantities of salt and sometimes even shotgun shells without raising suspicion.

Of course, in those days the stores were not nearly as high-tech and spacious as the new building they saw before them.

Dean let out a low whistle as he sat forward in the driver's seat, his eyes wide as he took in the sheer size of the store. "That is one big Wally World."

"It's like they're going up all over the country," Sam responded. "Apparently, there are more Walmarts than any other stores in the United States."

"Walmarts taking over," Dean mused. "Think it's a sign of the apocalypse?"

Sam chuckled then shrugged. "Could be." He opened his door and stepped out into the cool New England night. "What exactly do you think we're going to find here, Dean?"

"I don't know." Dean climbed out of the Impala and leaned across the top of the shiny black car. "But this is where they found the bones. And both the bodies were found within a hundred yard radius of the perimeter." He nodded to a large, wrought iron fence across the deserted road behind Sam. "And there is a cemetery right next door. Looks like a good place to find a ghost."

"You mean the Headless Horseman?"

"Maybe." Dean didn't let the sarcasm in his brother's voice get to him. "I'm not ruling out any possibility."

"Okay," Sam drawled slowly. "So what? You just want to sit around and hope he comes galloping out of the automotive department?"

"No, smartass. I want to go check out the grounds and see if we can find the missing head."

Sam dipped his head, throwing his brother a look of disbelief, "Dean, first of all we don't even know if that skeleton has anything to do with those two deaths. The bodies could have been found out here simply because it's so remote. Not to mention that an entire construction crew hasn't found the head despite digging up half the town. What makes you think we're gonna have a chance in hell of finding it in one night, in the dark, without any kind of equipment?"

"Ah ah, Sammy." Dean chastised, as he stepped around the big Chevy and popped open the trunk. "Don't forget, we've got something that construction crew didn't." He pulled out the old Walkman he had modified into an EMF detector and held it up, wriggling it back and forth for emphasis.

"EMF?" Sam turned the side of his lips down and nodded approvingly. "If the bones had a spirit attached that is responsible for the deaths, the skull should give off EMF. Good thinking, Dean."

Dean grunted an acknowledgement and pulled a shotgun from the trunk, tossing it to Sam across the car. He pulled another weapon from the arsenal, then closed the trunk with a grin. "That's why I get the big bucks, Sammy."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsns

Three hours of traipsing across muddy, broken ground produced nothing and Sam was nearing the end of his patience. While he really wanted to placate his brother, he wasn't especially thrilled about spending the entire night outside in the cold traipsing around searching for what could very well be nothing more than a stretch of Dean's imagination.

"Dean, I hate to say it, man, but we got nothing."

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead. "Yeah. I know. I just figured it was worth a shot, ya know?"

"I know, but this whole Headless Horseman thing is just a myth, man. Even you have to admit it."

Sam watched as Dean switched off the EMF meter, shoving it into a coat pocket, his disappointment obvious on his face. They'd made it to the far side of the construction site, where the property line connected with the tall black fence of the cemetery, leaving a long trek across the uneven, equipment strewn land back to where they'd left the Impala. Sam turned to start the trek back to the car when Dean's voice stopped him.

"You hear that?"

Sam twisted his head back toward his brother, his ears picking up a faint noise, rhythmic and quickly growing louder.

He frowned. "What is that?"

Both men raised their shotguns, slowly backing up against each other, their eyes surveying the darkness surrounding them. Suddenly, from behind the partially erected building, a figure loomed from the shadows, its black cape rustling in the wind as it sat atop the huge black beast galloping toward them.

"Holy crap," Dean muttered, his eyes locked on the apparition barreling down on them. He took a step back, bumping into his brother who had turned at the sound of his voice.

"No way," Sam uttered, his voice filled with awe and disbelief. "Is that…"

"A headless ghost on a horse?" Dean responded casually. "Looks like." He raised his shotgun and fired at the spirit, which simply swerved to avoid the blast and kept coming.

They both began to move backwards toward the fence line.

Dean fired again, the salt round hitting home but only causing the spirit to flicker out of existence for a moment before reforming closer to them than before.

"Run!" he screamed as he fired one more time before turning and running full bore back toward the cemetery. The fence was iron, which would stop the spirit from pursuing, but it loomed a good eight feet in height, topped with wicked looking spikes on every other post. There was a gate about 100 yards down the property line positioned directly under the sole street light, but it was held tightly closed with a padlocked chain.

"Get to the gate!" Dean yelled. He turned and fired again, trusting that Sam would take care of the lock as long as he could hold the spirit off long enough. A quick glance showed him that Sam's long legs had gotten him to the gate and the younger man was now kneeling before the lock, working on the mechanism.

The horseman appeared again almost directly in front of Dean who had to dive to the side to avoid being trampled by the ethereal beast. His hip connected with a large stone, causing him to grunt out loud, the jarring pain of the impact causing him to drop the shotgun. Scrambling across the ground, he reached for the weapon and rolled quickly, sighting on the spirit looming above him.

"Sam!" He aimed again at the apparition as it stopped beside him, but the shot went wide as the dark horse reared up on its hind legs, front hoofs pawing against the darkness. The streetlight seemed to shine through the spirit, its black cape flowing behind it in the nonexistent breeze. The hooves of the horse were directly above him and he threw his arms above his head in a feeble attempt to protect himself.

"Dean!" The sound of the shotgun blast rang out and Dean jumped, half expecting to feel the hooves of the horse smash down against him. He looked up in time to see the spirit disappear yet again, tilting his head to find his brother standing next to the open gate, his own shotgun smoking.

"Come on!" Sam yelled, his gun still trained on the empty space the horseman had previously occupied.

Dean quickly pushed himself from the ground, wincing at the sudden pain in his hip that threatened to topple him. He forced himself to put weight on the leg and limped as fast as possible toward his brother who grabbed his jacket as soon as he was within reach and pulled him bodily through the gate. Dean toppled onto the ground as Sam quickly slammed the gate closed behind them just as the spirit reappeared directly underneath the street lamp. The horse raised itself again, the headless rider leaning forward in perfect balance as the sound of the beast's sinister whinny seemed to fill the air all around them.

Then just a suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone, their own rapid breaths the only sounds in the silence.

After a few moments, they both slumped back against the fence, swallowing hard.

"You were saying?" Dean gave his brother a wide-eyed glance.

Sam didn't even bother to look at him. "Shut up."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Hollow Victories\\Part** **2**

Dean limped into the motel room from the small bathroom, trying to stifle the moan of pain. The impressive black and blue bruise on his hip had started to throb as soon as they'd left the cemetery. He'd managed to drive without incident, but the joint had stiffened up and the long, hot shower had done little to loosen tightness in his leg. Without looking at his brother, he shuffled to the closest bed and flopped down onto his back, not bothering to lift his feet from the floor.

"Here."

The ice pack hit him square on the stomach and he deftly repositioned it on top of the area of throbbing pain.

"Thanks."

"You okay?"

"Would you believe I've fallen and I can't get up?"

"It must be a bitch getting old."

Dean tilted his head to glare at his brother upside down. "Laugh it up, junior. 'Cause this is you in a couple of years."

Sam grinned. "Like they say, Dean, it's not the years, it's the mileage."

"Says the guy with no car." Dean pushed himself onto his elbows and twisted his body around so that he lay correctly on the bed. "You spend all this time thinking up bad one-liners, or have you done something constructive with your time?"

Sam smirked but nodded toward the computer. "I think I found our horseman."

"No shit?" Dean pushed up, wincing slightly as he put weight on his leg. "What happened to 'the Headless Horseman is just a story?'" He limped over to the table across the Sam and carefully lowered himself onto the wooden chair, replacing the ice pack on his hip as he focused his attention on his brother.

"The Headless Horseman is a story, Dean. But I think it just may have some basis in reality."

Dean pursed his lips and ducked his head in question. "So, what, you think Washington Irving was writing more Amityville than Blair Witch?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe. I mean it's possible he wrote something he saw, but knowing the fears of the people at the time, played it off as a work of fiction. Back then, people tended to believe in witchcraft and the devil and all sorts of things that could end up coming back on the person who reported it. It's conceivable that he witnessed the horseman first hand, or maybe heard the story from someone, and wrote a fictional account using the ghost as his villain."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Okay. Possible. But who's our horseman?"

"Major John André." Sam announced, turning the laptop toward his brother. "In 1780, he was a British officer who was arrested as a spy. Story is he was traveling south on Albany Post Road –"

"Right where Sam Walton is setting up shop," Dean interrupted.

""Exactly," Sam continued. "He was carrying plans to West Point when he was stopped and searched. They found the plans in his boot. He was arrested, convicted and subsequently hanged in mid October of that year.""

"Hanged?" Dean asked. "His head didn't happen to pop off or anything, did it?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "There's no actual report of anything but the hanging, Dean. But, if those bones are as old as the think they are, we could be looking at a simple salt and burn here."

"Except Major Pain still seems to be missing his head." Dean reminded him. "You think we can put a crimp in this things midnight rides if we can't find all of him?"

"Maybe the head is already destroyed," Sam offered, raising a hand to stop his brother's argument. "I know. We don't have any proof one way or another, but we didn't find any trace of the skull at the construction site, and I'm not exactly thrilled with the idea of taking another survey as long as the horseman is still galloping around. Besides, if the head isn't with the body and it's still in tact, it could be anywhere. There's just no way for us to find it. I say we get the bones and put this spirit to rest."

"I guess it's all we can do," Dean agreed. "If he's keeping heads, it's possible he's really lost his, so I guess we're gonna steal us some bones." He pushed himself off the chair and hobbled back to the bed, easing himself down onto the mattress with a sigh.

"You gonna be able to make our appointment in the morning, grandpa?" Sam couldn't hide the trace of humor that colored his inquiry as he watched his older brother's movements. It was obvious Dean wasn't feeling up to a long, arduous search and Sam had no problem trying the easy way out for once.

"Oh I'll make it," Dean assured him as he repositioned the ice pack, then relaxed back into the pillows. "And after we torch this thing, remind me to kick your ass."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsnsns

A second hot shower the next morning had loosened Dean's hip slightly, despite the impressive green and yellow coloring that had extended above and below the actual bruise. Sam gave a low whistle of sympathy when Dean emerged from the bathroom in just his dark dress pants and limped to his bed to grab the white shirt and dark tie that completed his 'Fed' disguise.

"Are you up for this?" the younger man asked as he stood before the mirror, watching his brother as he straightened his tie.

"I'm fine, Sam." Dean responded without hesitation. He pulled on his shirt then sat down slowly before beginning to work on the buttons.

Expecting the answer, Sam shook his head silently as he crossed the room and pulled his suit jacket from the back of the chair. He turned toward his brother as he shrugged into the dark jacket, pulling on the sleeves to straighten the shirtsleeves below. "So, how exactly are we going to make off with a bunch of bones from a secure lab in broad daylight?"

Dean shrugged as he pushed himself off the bed and shrugged into his own jacket that had been draped across the foot of the mattress. "I'm sure we'll think of something."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsnsns

The 'agents' were introduced to a tall, dark haired woman whose nametag read M. Cartwright.

"Uh, Doctor Cartwright," Dean began as they made their way toward the lab where the bones were currently being stored.

"Please, call me Margaret." The doctor lowered her glasses and gave Dean a wide smile, eliciting a look of surprise from the older brother and a soft snicker of amusement from the younger. The woman was in great shape for her age, which Dean surmised must be just this side of fifty. Her face showed only slight lines around her eyes and her dark hair shimmered with a slight tinge of white around her temples. Dean thought it made her look incredibly sophisticated. Underneath the white lab coat, he could tell she was someone who took good care of herself, her modestly cut blouse open just enough to show a bit of cleavage, the bottom tucked into a shapely pair of dark slacks.

"Okay," he drawled slowly, returning her smile with one of his own. "Margaret. Have you been able to determine the age of the bones?"

Margaret pushed through a set of swinging doors, leading them down a long, sterile looking hallway. "Actually, preliminary tests show the bones to be over 200 years old. That would date back to the revolutionary war. Of course there are plenty of old graves from that period around here so it's not surprising to find a body that old…"

"But this body wasn't found in a marked grave." Sam supplied.

"No, which is going to make it very hard to identify," she agreed. Moving gracefully into a small exam room, she waved them toward a gurney with a set of bones, sans head, lying in the approximate position they would occupy inside a human body. "We're sending them out later today to the state lab in Albany for a thorough study. I'm afraid there's really not much more I can tell you."

Dean stepped forward, his limp obvious as he walked around the gurney.

"Are you alright, Agent Shaw?"

He raised his eyes to hers, the corners of his lips turning down slightly as he nodded. "Ah, yeah. Just managed to take a hard tumble chasing a suspect a couple of days ago. Bruised my hip up a bit. Nothing serious."

Sam stepped back, knowing his brother would never play up an injury – especially one as minor as this – without a reason.

Dean took another step, placing himself just to the left of Doctor Cartwright, before bending slightly and giving a pain filled hiss.

"Oh my," Margaret grabbed for his arm, helping him stand and giving him a look of concern. "Perhaps you should sit down, Agent…"

"Tom," Dean supplied.

"Tom," she repeated with a smile. "I have a very comfortable couch back in my office. It's just a few doors down the hall…"

Dean raised his eyebrows and gave his brother grin before turning his attention back to the doctor. "That would actually be great, Margaret. In the meantime, my partner can call in and give our report."

Sam pulled out his cell phone on cue. "Uh, yeah. No problem, You take it easy for a few and I'll meet you back at the car."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsnsns

Leaning against the Impala, Sam pulled at his tie and checked his watch for the umpteenth time. After Doctor Cartwright had helped his limping 'partner' out of the exam room and down the hall, Sam had quickly pulled the collapsible carton from underneath his suit jacket and placed the bones inside. He'd found a roll of tape to seal the container and had made his way out of the lab, nodding to the staff he encountered as if he was simply doing his job.

It always amazed him what they could get away with by simply acting as if they belonged. Nobody questioned a 'federal agent' transporting a container from the lab and all he had to do was carry it out, drop it into the trunk of the Impala and hope his brother made his own escape before anyone who had a clue noticed the bones were gone.

Speaking of which….

He raised his head toward the door as it opened, spilling his smiling, only slightly limping brother into the parking lot. Sam pushed off the car as his brother approached, crossing his arms in front of him and breathing slowly through his nose.

"It's about time."

"You get the bones?" Dean pulled the keys from his pocket as he sauntered past the taller man and started around the front of the black Chevy.

"Yep," Sam replied. "In the trunk." He allowed his body to turn, following his brother's movement to the other side of the car.

"You put a body in the trunk?" Dean looked up as he opened the driver's side door. "How very Soprano of you, Sammy."

Sam snorted a laugh and opened the passenger door, sliding his long body into the familiar leather seat. "So, how'd it go? Doctor Cartwright looked like she wanted to sooth more than just the pain in your hip." He turned in his seat, throwing an arm across the back of the bench, giving his brother a grin.

"Oh, she did," Dean reached forward and slid the key into the ignition. "And for the record, she has very nice hands for a cougar."

"A cougar?" Sam stuttered, his eyebrows rising to disappear under his bangs. "Dean, you didn't!"

Dean leaned back and laughed, his eyes widening in innocence. "Hey, I had to do something to keep her busy so you could scam the bones."

Sam shook his head. "I don't want to hear this, do I?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, dude. She was a nice lady…"

"… with nice hands," Sam mumbled.

"… who just happens to be a student of Swedish Massage techniques." Dean finished, turning the key and letting the sound of the Impala's engine fill the air.

"Swedish massage?"

"Yep."

"You mean she…"

"Yep."

"And you…"

"Yep."

"Right there in her office?"

Dean shook his head as he threw the car into gear. "Close your mouth, Sammy. You're drooling."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsnsn

For the sake of thoroughness, they decided to take a last look around the construction site after the crew had left for the evening, but it was clear that if the spirits skull had at one time been with the rest of the bones, it was no more. They set up the skeleton back behind the partially constructed building, far away from the road, hidden from view from prying eyes. They hadn't encountered any security on their last trip to the site, and it seemed pretty obvious there was little to none tonight.

As Sam reverently placed the last bone on top of the pile, his thoughts went to the person that lived so long ago.

"You think his family ever wondered about him?"

Dean looked back over his shoulder from his position as sentry. "I don't know, Sammy. Seems kind of sad for someone to die and have nobody realize they're gone. Besides, we're going to give him a proper send off. "

"We're burning his bones, Dean," Sam reminded him. "Somehow I don't think that constitutes a proper funeral."

Dean sighed and turned back to the darkness. "He was a soldier, Sam. Despite which side he fought on, he was still a soldier and this is something a soldier would understand."

Sam thought about his brother's words for a moment before answering. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He sprinkled salt on the pile and doused it with lighter fluid, stepping back as he pulled out a matchbook. "You ready?"

Dean turned, placing his shotgun over his shoulder and nodded. "Light it up, Sammy."

It almost felt like he was back in Bobby's field behind the junkyard for a moment. Sam swallowed and looked at the pyre, for a moment seeing his father's linen wrapped body instead of the pile of ancient bones. With a heavy sigh, he struck a match, allowing it to light the rest of the book before tossing it onto the bones. Within seconds, the entire pyre was lit up, the flames climbing high into the night sky.

He looked up to see Dean's eyes staring into the flames, a lost look on his face. He could only imagine what ghosts his brother was seeing in the blaze. Sam remembered seeing the same look on his brother's face as they'd sat out in the field, alone, watching their father's body burn. He hadn't cried – not like Sam had – he hadn't shown any emotion at all. And for some reason, that had been more painful to see than the fire itself.

A movement behind his brother caught Sam's eyes and he looked up, breath catching in his throat as the horseman appeared almost twenty yards from the pyre.

"Dean."

Obviously sensing the urgency in the younger man's voice, Dean looked up, his eyes quickly following his brother's line of sight, focusing on the apparition behind him. He raised the shotgun, but didn't fire, instead taking a step forward, his eyes squinting at the ghost.

"He's not coming after us," he stated matter-of-factly.

Sam's brows furrowed as he realized his brother was right. The horseman wasn't even mounted on the dark steed. He stood beside the creature, the horse's reigns trailing on the ground. Neither spirit moved, simply standing in the darkness, a black silhouette against the waning moonlight.

"Maybe it realizes we're helping it," Sam ventured, his eyes round as he watched the spirit slowly begin to fade. After a moment, there was nothing but the darkness, the only sound the crackling of the fire as it completed it's job.

"Do you think a soul can be at rest with part of itself missing?"

Sam turned toward his brother who was still staring out into the night. "I don't know. I'm willing to believe it if you are."

When Dean didn't answer, he shifted from one foot to the other, his eyes tracking back to the dying fire. "Dean, I've been thinking…."

"When are you not?"

Sam huffed a laugh, grateful for the attempt at levity even though it was obvious his brother's heart wasn't into it. He took a deep breath, not really sure if what he was about to say would help or hinder, but knowing he had to do something to set his brother's mind at ease.

"About what you said before… about Dad… about him being dead because of you…"

"Sam…" He couldn't ignore the warning tone of Dean's voice, but he held up a hand, hoping to force his brother to listen to him for once. He'd been thinking about what Dean had said on the side of that mountain road for days and although he couldn't understand how Dean could believe it was his fault, he could understand why his brother would feel guilty about what had happened.

"No, just let me finish. Please."

Dean slowly lowered his head and Sam nodded, knowing it was all the permission he was likely to get.

"I know you think Dad made some kind of a deal. I know you think he traded his life for yours… and I don't know if that's what happened, but if that's really what did go down, if he really did make some kind of a bargain to save you, then… I think you're wrong." He kept his eyes on his brother, watching as the broad shoulders tensed. "Dad's not dead because of you, Dean. You're alive because of him."

"And that's different how?"

"Because it was his choice, Dean. It wasn't yours. It was his. He made it because he wanted you to live. He wanted to save you more than he wanted his revenge."

"Maybe," Dean acknowledged in a low voice. "But it wasn't worth it, Sam. It wasn't worth his life."

Sam sighed, knowing he was probably never going to get his brother to understand. John Winchester had been such a huge part of their lives – of Dean's especially – and Sam could only hope that one day his brother would be able to think of their Dad without believing his sacrifice was for nothing.

"He thought it was," Sam said softly. "And, for once, I can't find it in me to disagree."

The fire crackled in the silence, the wind beginning to blow the ashes back across the construction site. Sam turned his attention back to the pyre, watching as the smoke drifted high into the sky, disappearing into the night.

The End

_My apologies for not having this complete by Halloween, but at least I didn't make you wait until Thanksgiving! Hope everyone had a safe and scary holiday!! Thanks for reading!_


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